


The White Butterfly

by Amikotsu



Category: Naruto
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Butterflies, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Feelings, Folktales, Legal Adults, No underage, Rare Pairings, Sad and Happy, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29441808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amikotsu/pseuds/Amikotsu
Summary: Butterflies didn't live very long, but he swore the same butterfly followed him through his life. And in his heart, he knew it was Ino. In his heart, he knew that she was watching over him, waiting until the moment when they could be reunited. Their love never faded.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi & Maito Gai | Might Guy, Hatake Kakashi/Yamanaka Ino
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Naruto AU Week 2021





	The White Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Mythology/Folktales

Coat closed tightly around himself, his hands stuffed into his warm pockets, Kakashi surveyed the weathered gravestone. The winter was a harsh one, with temperatures well below average and wind chill values below zero, but he visited the grave regularly, cleaning it and adorning it with flowers. He stayed as long as he could, until his nose was frozen and his fingers grew stiff. The depth of the snow on the ground didn’t matter to him. He’d promised her he would never forget her, that he would never seek the company of another woman as long as he lived. He was lonely, terribly lonely, but visiting her grave soothed his soul. At her grave, he wasn’t alone. There, he spoke to her gravestone, recounting his daily life, sharing stories of his dogs. The ones they’d shared together had died well over a decade ago, and their small graves also decorated his backyard. He’d buried her beneath the cherry blossom tree, so he would never forget her love of the flowers and the bright smile on her face when the weather broke and pink petals danced in the warm breeze. She would have been thirty-six that year, where he’d turned fifty. He’d celebrated her birthday by buying her roses, thirty-six of them, one for every year. They’d died, as all flowers died, and the cycle of flowers continued.

He was middle-aged, well beyond his prime, and he wondered if she would have grown tired of him. They’d fallen in love when she was eighteen, and she was gone by twenty-three. In their home near the sea, they’d built a life together, and hers was stolen far too soon. They’d been in the midst of family planning when she’d fallen ill, and nothing short of magic could have saved her. Consumption was truly all-consuming. He stayed by her bedside throughout the final months of her life, where he watched her waste away. He’d been honorably discharged that summer, and he spent every day caring for her. Nothing he’d experienced on the front lines hurt him in the way that her suffering hurt him. There had been too many hospitals, too many doctors, too many missed opportunities to slow the spread. She’d told him that it felt as if she had flowers blooming in her lungs, the petals stealing the air she desperately needed. And it was poetic, but that was Ino. She’d asked nothing of him, but he’d promised her everything. She chose to speak to him as if she weren’t dying before his eyes. They talked of the children they would have, their names, their hair color, their eye color, their personalities; they talked of the dogs they had yet to adopt, because he loved dogs and she loved him. They’d planned to travel for their honeymoon, the one they’d put off until after his discharge, so they talked of numerous destinations and the experiences they would have on foreign soil. 

Losing her, he lost a large part of himself. With the cold breeze stealing his warmth, he considered letting the weather have him. He had those thoughts more often. He thought of his own death in the quiet of the night, after the dogs had gone to sleep and all of the lights had been turned off. He should have gone with her, but there was always something holding him back. He still had friends. He still had dogs. He wasn’t alone, though that didn’t stop him from feeling lonely. On his worst day, the night after she’d died, a lone, white butterfly had fluttered about the window box, moving amongst the daisies, climbing up the glass, until he finally lifted the window to shoo it away. He’d waved the butterfly away, but it landed on his hand and climbed along his fingers. He hadn’t known what to do with it. But it kept appearing, day and night, staying with him until he felt strong enough to continue living. It still appeared. Whenever he worked in her garden, the butterfly would greet him and settle on his shoulder and watch him work. The butterfly loved flowers in the way that Ino had loved flowers. So as he spoke to her grave, he spoke to the butterfly. 

He stayed at the grave until the occasional snowflake turned into a snow shower, and then he returned to his warm house, where he lit a fire in the living room fireplace to chase the chill from his bones. On the couch, his sock-clad feet propped up on the coffee table, he stared at the television, looking right through the images on the screen. He hadn’t seen the butterfly in two days, and he had to wonder if the cold had killed it. The lifespan of a butterfly didn’t exceed one year, but he knew in his heart that the white butterfly visiting him had lived over fifteen years. There was something about it that screamed Ino. Her pale blonde hair. Her bright blue eyes. Her fair skin. He saw all of that in the white butterfly. He started each day with the butterfly, and ended each day with the butterfly. And he hadn’t seen the beautiful creature in two days. He wondered if he’d imagined the whole experience. His friends worried about him. His best friend, Gai, had broached the subject of therapy again, and he shot it down, as he always did, and lied about his well-being, because lying was much easier than confessing to the fact that he spoke to the dead through a grave and the wings of a butterfly.

All at once, the television went dark, leaving him with firelight for company. Flames twisting, wood cracking, the fire itself tried to fill the void left by the dark television. Kakashi stared at the screen for several long minutes, then he sighed. The snowstorm had knocked the power out. Living out in the middle of nowhere meant the power came and went sometimes, and there was nothing he could do about it but wait it out. With Ino, they’d played card games and board games, and sometimes she lured him into a particularly interesting game of truth-or-dare. Without her, the house was empty, even with him sitting there. He saw something white reflected in the television, so he turned to look over his shoulder, but hands blocked his eyes, his good one and the glass one. He tensed, ready to fight an intruder, but he felt a warm breath near his ear.

“What are you doing, Kakashi?” It was her voice and he shut down immediately, his whole body going limp. Her hands remained over his eyes, so he reached up to cover her hands with his own. 

“Why are you here?” She remained quiet, her hands still covering his eyes. He wondered if she chose to ignore him because it was a stupid question or because his mind had conjured her. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. Perhaps he’d had too much sake. Perhaps so many other scenarios to try and explain his dead wife visiting him. “Ino?”

“This will be the last time I visit you.” His breath hitched and he tried to pry her hands from over his eyes, but she refused to budge. “Don’t look at me. Let me stay with you for a little while longer. Keep your eyes closed.” His hands dropped from over hers and he shut his eyes. After his eyes had closed, he felt her move her hands from over his eyes. Though he longed to see her again, he listened to her words. “You’ve gotten old.”

“That’s what happens,” he replied, uncomfortable with the turn in conversation. She chuckled, her voice soft and light, reminding him of fine silk. He imagined the smile on her face and the warmth in her eyes. He remembered her so well, every detail burnt into his mind. Pictures of them littered the home. He refused to forget a single thing about her. “I miss you,” he admitted, his voice quiet. She circled around the couch to sit next to him and leaned against his side, so he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her tightly to himself. “Where did you go?”

“It’s almost time, Kakashi,” she whispered, pressing her lips against his cheek. He turned his head to try and catch her lips, but she’d pulled away. He still felt the warmth from the kiss. Frowning, he readied to open his eyes, but her words stopped him. “Will you come with me?”

“Yes,” he answered, without hesitation. He opened his eyes and his arm fell back to his side. White wings fluttered, carrying the butterfly toward the window. Eyes wide, he jumped to his feet to pursue the butterfly, but it easily passed through the glass. He pressed his palm against the cold glass, the warmth leaving a foggy outline. He’d opened his eyes. She’d told him not to open his eyes. “Yes,” he repeated, his heartbreak causing his voice to crack. He wondered if she would have teased him, like she’d used to tease him. She was gone, truly gone, and he’d never felt emptier. 

Her words made no sense to him then. He should have listened to her, should have asked more questions, should have done something to prolong the time they’d had together. Without the butterfly, without the touch of her lips to his cheek, he began to question if he’d imagined the whole encounter again. He couldn’t explain the light pink lip gloss he scrubbed off his cheek or the way she’d felt pressed against his side. She’d been with him for fifteen years, watching over him, sharing his life. And in a moment, she was gone. That night, he didn’t sleep. He waited for something he couldn’t comprehend. When the power finally kicked on again, when the television played for the empty living room, he was gone. He was with her again. 

He wasn’t very old when he died. Three days after his passing, Gai had stopped to check on him and found him tucked into bed, his dogs surrounding him, as if to keep him warm. Gai didn’t see the two white butterflies hovering outside of the window; he didn’t see how they circled one another, how they rose into the early morning sky. He died with many regrets, but none held him back. Butterflies never lived more than a year, but they weren’t normal butterflies. They were two lost souls newly found. And wasn’t it just like him to keep her waiting.


End file.
